She's A Cancer
by Faenea
Summary: She was a cancer on everything I ever held dear. Yet I could not stop noticing her.  Written for Lily.and.Alice's "Endless Opportunities" challenge.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything or anyone in the Harry Potter world. I have taken a train from Kings Cross though.

She is a cancer on our society.

Yet, I cannot help but notice her. Her very existence is an affront to my sensibilities. Yet, when I pick my son up from Kings Cross, I cannot help but look across the platform for her bushy head. Her movements are rapid, as though she has more energy than her tiny body can contain. She should learn some grace, if she expects to ever be more than a blemish on magical society. I never understand why my eyes are drawn to such imperfection. Indeed, even her parents are nothing, no magic and no looks to speak of. Her mother looks much like her, riotous curls crowning a small heart shaped face, though her figure has long since lost its youthful look. Her father is rather plain and I have no interest in treating these Muggles to the pleasure of my gaze.

She is a cancer on our world.

But my eyes are again drawn to the riotous curls of this pretentious little Mudblood. How dare she bring her dirty blood into our society? And how dare she have the nerve to stand against those of us with Pureblood? We are the scions of magic. She is barely on the fringes of our society, just enough magic to be allowed into school. I look down my nose at her, raising an imperious eyebrow at her audaciousness. Box seats at the World Cup should be reserved for those that deserve them. She was unworthy.

She is a cancer to our Lord.

Her brain is a formidable weapon in the hands of our Lord's foe. Even He admits to her intelligence, listens to the reports by my son and other children as to her grades and the hexes and curses she has used on others. Part of me wonders if our Lord is as infatuated with the Mudblood as my son. But I would never question him. Nor would I admit to being as interested as the both of them in such a disgusting creature.

She is a cancer to our cause.

It becomes difficult to recruit others to our Lord's side when they are constantly asking why the best student in Hogwarts right now is a mere Muggleborn witch. She fights beside the "Chosen One", the child chosen by our foes to represent them. Part of me pities these children for the loss of their childhood; the other part is merely angered that they dare stand against me, and my Lord.

She is a cancer to our birthright.

We, who were born to magic families, will always appreciate it more. She isn't even magical for months out of the year, while she is at home with her disgusting, plain Muggle parents. But she draws my eyes again, as she dares to cast against us. We, who are pure of blood and have a higher ideal, know that she is unworthy. But still she draws my eyes, again.

She is a cancer to my freedom.

Azkaban is rather dreary in the summer. Of course it is dreary most other times too, but as it is summer now, that is why I comment. It should have been such an easy task collecting that prophecy sphere, but she was there. And when she is beside her boy hero, they both fight harder than should be allowed. Sadly, I will sit here and as the Dementors pass by, I will constantly see that duo beating me in battle. Strange that the worst memories I have involve her. She should not be that important.

She is a cancer to my family.

The final battle is over. Although I am not sure how, my family remains free from Azkaban. I did not even attempt the Imperius alibi again. It did not seem worth it after watching the boy hero come back to life and win over my Lord. Lord of nothing now. I remained back from the crowd as they celebrated. Over the heads, I saw those riotous curls as they were embraced by the dull-witted red head. My son grits his teeth in a grimace and gasps aloud as though their actions pained him. I had never realized just how much he spoke of her until now. I wonder how much of his complaints were caused by infatuation. I do not know if he could even tell me.

She is a cancer on my marriage.

My wife watches me watching her. I know she wonders what my attraction is to the plain witch with dirty blood. Her questions at night are worse than her accusing eyes during the day. No matter what I say, she believes the worst of my interest in the younger witch, but still I wonder if we can somehow use the young witch to get back into the good graces of our society again. I feel my wife slipping away from me, affected by her imaginings and my disinterest.

She is a cancer on my heart.

I have been watching her for a while. She is wasted in her job. Her brain should be put to use in spell crafting or potions research or anything but working in a dead end job in the Magical Creatures department of the Ministry. How I long to go to her and offer her the world. My son has finally acceded to my wishes and wed. Our family name will live on. But still I want more. So I watch her.

She was a cancer on my life.

For years I watched her. And finally on the day I knew I would breathe my last, I asked to see her. I had one final thing to say to her and one request I could only hope she would grant me. Her riotous curls are slightly tamed, and silver streaks lend her a touch of elegance. Her movements are rapid as though she contains more energy than her still petite frame can handle. She comes to my bedside and listens to my words, an apology from my lips to her ears. I entreat her to grant my last request. Tears on her eyelashes, she does. It was our first kiss. It was my last kiss.

She was a cancer on everything I ever held dear. And she brought not death but life to our world.


End file.
